Mourning
by nick.zambuto
Summary: All it takes, is just one bad day, to forever change a man. Chris Redfield was once strong, he once had hope for a better future. But after the mission in Edonia... after watching his entire unit succomb to the effects of the C-Virus... there is no hope left. One-shot based on the opening bar scene of RE6.


**Author's Notes**

**So I've just been dying to write a Resident Evil story, and this was the only idea I could come up with. My interpretation of the opening bar scene with Chris, as scene in Resident Evil 6. In case you've been under a rock, in RE6 Chris is going through some hard times. Him and a squad of BSAA members were sent to kick some ass in Edonia, but, courtesy of Ada Wong, his entire unit was infected with the C-Virus and turned into BOW's right in front of his eyes, and he's forced to put them down. As seen in the E3 demo, Chris leaves the BSAA for 6 months, and decides to drink up in an effort to make himself feel better. Hope you have as much fun reading as I did writing. Enjoy!**

The Edonian bar was truly a sight to behold. Not because of it's dank walls, or wretched odor. Nor was it because of the rodents that freely scurry about, coming from the dark and nipping at fallen crumbs. The dark and musty decor of the bar was not what would catch your eye, but rather, the occupants of this homely place were, the drunk seated at the head of the bar with a bottle in one hand and a cigarette in the other was in particular. This man, this middle aged, hunched over drunk, with his head hung low and his bottle half empty, deserves your full and upmost attention. You must be asking, why in God's name does this pitiful excuse of a man deserve anything more than a backward glance? Well, I'll tell you why. It's because his name is Chris Redfield.

_The screams were all consuming. They haven't stopped since they started, and though the men who's lips originally made these screams have long since stopped breathing, the screams themselves still fill his head, a never ending reminder of his failure._

"Never thought I'd find Chris Redfield wasted in a shithole like this." A young man, barely in his 20s, hovers over the drunk in question. Barely glancing up, Chris mutters a half coherent response to the younger man. The man shakes his head, not in contempt, or disgust — but in concern. Taking a seat, he continues to look at his old friend, who in turn continues to mumble.

"I don't know you."

_Visions of the past flash across his eyes, and he can't avert his gaze. He's forced to watch on, watch as their skin literally melts off, and their bodies ooze away. He screams, but he can't save them. All he can do is watch on as his men lose their very humanity right before his eyes._

"Oh yes you do." The young man replies. "Piers. Piers Nivans. I know you recognize me."

"Another drink." Chris calls to the waitress.

"I think you've had enough." She says to him.

_His men._

"Another drink." Chris repeats, his tone harsh.

"How about you get out of my bar?" The waitress nearly yells.

Chris stares her down, his gaze stone cold. Then he turns, and gets up, walking in the opposite direction of the exit.

_His friends__._

"The lady asked you to leave." Chris can feel a hand on his shoulder, forcefully tugging at him. And just as fast as he felt it, he has it in his grasp, twisting it around the barman's back, and pinning him on the table.

He's no longer thinking, he's stopped doing that long ago. Grabbing a bottle off the table, Chris makes to smash it over the man's head.

Everyone freezes, and if it wasn't for Piers grabbing Chris's hand, the barman would be in a hospitable right now. But instead, Piers' gaze seems to at least knock _some _sense back into the soldier, and he slowly puts the bottle down and backs away. Wobbling over to the nearest table, Chris plops down in a chair, with his hand coming up to mask his face.

"So I've spend six months searching for you, and _this_ is what I find?" Piers asks.

"I don't even know you." Chris slurs.

"You don't know me?" Piers asks. "Well tell me, do you know Ben Airhart?"

Chris's immediately looks up, staring at Piers.

"How about Finn Macauley?"

"No..."

"Derek Brown? Jonathan Musket?" With each new name, Piers raises his voice a little bit higher. "You remember David Anderson? Or Paul Wills?"

Chris brings both hands to his face, the memories resurfacing, forcing their way back in.

"No, no I-"

"Yes!" Piers reaches across the table, grabbing Chris by the collar. "You DO remember! You HAVE to Chris! You OWE it to them to remember Chris!"

Slowly, Chris's eyes open, and through his fingers he glances at the man in front of him. At the patch on his shirt.

"BSAA..." He reads. Piers's expression immediately softens, and his grip on his captain relaxes.

"Yeah Chris, thats where you belong. We all need you". Only when he says those words, does Chris finally look up.

"Who's we?"

Piers looks his captain dead in the eye, his face never more serious.

"The world."


End file.
